


ghost

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [44]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: :) have some pain, Angst, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: The only way to solve a problem is to understand it.





	ghost

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: “Could you do something with this? "Don't be haunted by my ghosts, Hermann.””

The cell is an over-glorified box; the walls are two-sided mirrors; transparent on the outside, opaque within, and Hermann’s fought so hard, so _hard_ even just for this, to get him out of the tiny, claustrophobic holding-cell where they strapped him to the chair, bloodied and bruised, Hermann’s only connection to him the awful security tapes.

His fingers are tight around the head of the cane, the marks on his neck still fading beneath a high collar. Newt’s laying on the flimsy white cot, staring at the ceiling, and he rises when Hermann approaches.

“…what is it now?” he asks, tiredly, face gaunt, shadows beneath his eyes dark. Sensing Hermann’s surprise, he says, a touch of dark amusement in his tone, “Oh, don’t worry, I can’t see you. I can hear you, though. Who is it this time, then?”

Hermann swallows. “It’s me, Newton.”

The other’s expression doesn’t change, shaky exhale the only indication he’s affected in any way. “Oh?” he asks, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet, “well, then, come to see how far the genius has fallen? Truly a _kaiju groupie_ now, eh, Hermann?”

“Don’t say that,” Hermann snaps, biting and pained, and the other laughs hollowly.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “of all people, I thought you’d be the one to be angriest. What with the—” he gestures to his neck, and Hermann instinctively reaches to adjust his collar before remembering that the other can’t even see it and drops his hand to his side.

“That wasn’t you,” Hermann counters. “That was the— _Precursors_.”

Newt’s lips, cracked and peeling, curl into a bitter, humourless smile. “Just like Mako’s death wasn’t me? Don’t fool yourself, Hermann—those were my hands coding the code, my ideas that they took and twisted. It’s always been me, Hermann—”

“ _Stop!_ ” Hermann cries desperately, “stop this, Newton!”

Newt grins towards him jaggedly. “It’s true, though—and aren’t you the one who’s always in search of the truth, Hermann? _‘Politics, poetry, promises—’_ ”

Hermann stamps on the floor with his cane, the sound loud and jaring. In the silence following, Hermann chokes out roughly, “That was a decade ago, Newton, I’m not the same as I was.”

And who is he, even? After all these years, he’s not even sure—is he himself, with threads of _Newton_ woven into the greater tapestry of his personality, or is it more? Is it less? And, for that matter, who is _Newton_ , now?

Newt is finally quiet, and Hermann swallows, stepping close enough to the glass that he can touch it, reaches out and presses a palm to it. “Newton,” he says, hoarsely, and Newt steps forward, presses his own hand to the glass. Hermann moves his hand so that they line up.

Quietly enough that Hermann barely catches it, he says, “Who I was would have loved who you became.” His tone is indecipherable.

“And now?” Hermann asks, holding his breath.

Newt smiles sadly. “Don’t be weighed down by my mistakes, Hermann. They’re not your burden to carry.”

“And what of my own?” he asks, “and what of Alice? What am I to tell _her?_ ”

Newt’s laugh is sudden, high and wheezing. “You don’t know?” he asks, “you don’t know?”

Hermann’s silence is answer enough, and Newt laughs again, throws his head back. “Oh, Hermann,” he wheezes, breathless. “You truly believed I would leave you for someone else?”

“I had no frame of reference,” Hermann says, coldly, “and it doesn’t seem fair to not inform your— _Alice_ of what has happened.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Newt replies, turning his back. “Goodbye, Hermann.”

Hermann watches him for a few moments, silently, watches the shake of the other’s shoulders as he sits on the cot, the way he buries his face in his hands, wants to gather him in his arms, but they’re separated, like they were more than twenty years ago, but this time, by more than a mere ocean.

Unable to do anything, Hermann turns away, heart heavy.

(When he finally ventures into the other’s penthouse, finds the tank, the brain floating in off-green liquid, _ALICE_ scrawled in a shaky hand on the glass with sharpie, he stumbles into the bathroom, throws up in the toilet, hands clenched and white-knuckled on the bowl.

“So, then, now you know,” Newt says, when he hears his shaky tone when they speak the next day.

“I’m sorry,” Hermann says, unable to articulate his thoughts. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Newt’s smile is small and sad, and when he speaks, he sounds decades older. “Burn it, Hermann. Don’t let anyone else get their hands on it; don’t do what I would do. Don’t be haunted by my ghosts, Hermann.”

Hermann looks away, dabs the handkerchief at the blood dripping from his nose. “This is the only way,” he says quietly, too quiet for the other to hear, “the only way to solve a problem is to understand it.”)


End file.
